Infatuation
by SinsofMidnight
Summary: PART 1 OF 3! Ed has been yearning for his English teacher since he first laid eyes on him three months ago. Roy's been mooning over his student. What happens when they do something about it? *Completely Edited!* RoyXEd LEMONS
1. Welcome to High School Hell

**I originally wrote and finished this story a while ago. **

**Still, even old stories need attention and affection, so I'd like to welcome all of you to the edited version!**

**(In case you were worried, no, I haven't edited out all the good stuff –I'd have no story left, lol.)**

_"Welcome to my novel," said the spider to the fly… Sorry, I'm a little punchy right now~_

* * *

**Infatuation (Welcome to High School Hell Part One)**

**_Fandom:_**_ Fullmetal Alchemist_

**_Teaser:_**_ "_What a vivid dream,_ I thought, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I had yet to decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I'd been having dreams like that about my English teacher since the start of the school year. Either way, having such dreams _at school_ was definitely new and definitely not a good thing."_

**_Inspiration:_**_ This is what you write when you feel trapped in your high school and your small town… trust me, I know… That's where I was when I wrote it…Plus, I'll admit to having a crush on my adorable History teacher the year I wrote this :P_

**_Rating: _**_M, because you can't spell Mustang without it~_

**_Warnings:  
_**_-Illicit relationships  
-Cheating  
-Open Homosexuality/Bisexuality  
-Fantasies (*fans self*)  
-Sexy dreams  
-Hidden pasts  
-Smexing_

**_Main Pairing: _**_Roy Mustang/Edward Elric_

**_Minor Pairings:_**_  
-Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell  
-Maes Huges/Gracia Hughes  
-Edward Elric/Russell  
-Maes Hughes/Roy Mustang_

**_Setting: _**_AU! A random high school for gifted and talented kids. Calihan High, known affectionately as High School Hell_

**_POV:_**_ Edward and Roy, since it's both sides of my main pairing :P First person from both of them. _

**_Summary:_**_ Ed has been yearning for his English teacher since he first laid eyes on him three months ago. Roy's been mooning over the student that is forever tardy to his first hour class. What happens when the stars align and the two find themselves alone in an empty school?_

**_Additional ANs:_**_ This is currently an edit-in-progress. The entire story was completed in 2010, but since I am working on the sequel to this piece ("Complication"), I wanted to make the pieces fit together better, and that means updating this one, because my writing style has grown greatly since I first wrote this piece –I should hope so, at least: it's only been three years…  
I hope that some of you will stick with me as I work through this piece all over again. it's my hope to help people fall in love with this story all over again and to help even more people fall in love with it.  
It's also important to note that as a way to show that the story is being changed and bettered, I am changing the title. It will simply be called "Infatuation" from here on in._

**_Universe:_**_ This piece is the first part of three that belong to my "High School Hell" universe for FMA. _

**_Word Count:_**_ Original word count for the story: 10,197 words.  
I'll update later on word count for the edit ^^_

* * *

_Ed:_

Calihan High, otherwise known as High School Hell to all of the students that attend there, is a particularly strange school. They decided somewhere along the line that they didn't want to follow the American or the Japanese year systems. They chose, instead, to structure their own system: the kindergarten students were first years, the first grades were second years, and so on.

Now, I will admit that personally, I found their system to be slightly more logical, but that was pretty much where I believed their logic ran out. No student had the same teacher twice, aside from the electives they decided to stick with, and their sliding grading scale sucked because they always started with the highest grade. But what else did anyone expect from a school geared specifically for the highly intelligent? And in case you were wondering, no, that is not my pride speaking.

And so it really came with little surprise that when I walked through the school doors with my small circle of close friends –my younger brother Alphonse, his girlfriend and my best friend Winry, and my boyfriend Russell– on that fateful Friday that I had a sense of something closely related to impending doom. No, it wasn't because they went through the metal detectors quickly (the school board promises as _safe_ learning environment, after all) and I was held back. Since I'd lost one arm and one leg in an accident when I was younger, I couldn't go through the detectors because my metal prosthesis set the detectors off. I would have o be insane to consider removing them, since they were properly attached to my nerve endings and my muscles. So instead, I got the joy of a strip search on a daily basis.

I smiled grimly at the security guard who had been assigned to that particularly _pleasant_ duty this morning and followed him into the small room that the school had specifically designated for this use. Closing and locking the door behind us, he nodded to me in a "you know what to do" manner.

I kicked off my shoes and undid my leather pants to shove them down my thighs. My boxers soon followed, then I slid my jacket off and pulled my skin-tight t-shirt off. My gloves were next, then my socks. Painful surgeries and months of physical therapy had taken away all that really remained of my modesty. Honestly, of all the things I'd lost, let's just say I missed my modesty the least –especially since I went through this procedure five days a week.

The guard had long since stopped trying to make conversation with me (by the way, "What did you get that cost an arm and a leg?" is never appropriate or funny). I spread out my arms and walked to the wall. Because the extra little joy of a strip search is a cavity search.

_And people wonder why I'm gay._

I'm kidding: cavity searches don't turn people gay. I was gay for a long while before that ever happened. But seriously, though. You have to concentrate and force the muscles to relax for the entire process, and it sucked even though it was a relatively quick process. Despite the speed, the bell had rung and I was tardy for my first hour before I even pulled my clothes back on. The guard wrote the standard pass and handed it to me when I finished dressing again.

I hurried out of the room that put a door number on one of my personal hells and hustled to my locked. Fumbling between the weight of the backpack hanging off of one shoulder and the unfortunately intricate process of unlocking my locker, I nearly dropped the back on my foot when the damn locker finally opened. I obsessively placed the texts last night's homework had required in the top shelf of my locker in the same order as my class schedule. Then I pulled out two textbooks and my copy of "The Catcher and the Rye" (the novel we were reading in class) –basically, every conceivable item I might need for English –and started down the hall and to my class.

I couldn't help being late, but I certainly didn't want to be unprepared as well.

* * *

_Roy:_

Most of my first hour class was already in their seats. There was one empty chair, but I wasn't going to count him absent yet. My eyes latched onto a certain blond student that sat in the front row and kept mostly to herself. I walked over to her.

"Hey, Winry, is Ed here today?" I asked her, giving her a some-what apologetic smile. I knew she was his best friend and that she was dating his brother –it's a small school and even the teachers are privy to the student gossip. She was the one I usually asked about him, anyway, because she generally had the information I needed.

She nodded. "It's the normal morning routine for him, Mr. Mustang."

Despite being privy to student gossip, I still had no _idea_ why the boy got strip-searched on a daily basis. I just knew that it couldn't be for any of the rumored reasons, because he was a very serious student. But either way, I usually submitted my attendance before he even arrived in my classroom and I never counted him tardy. Poor guy couldn't help some spectacularly horrible luck. When the bell rang, I submitted the attendance via the school's computer system and sat on the edge of my desk to wait. I saw little point in beginning my lesson only to be interrupted five minutes in by a student who was generally more eager to learn than any of his classmates.

My first hour class had grown used to doing nothing for the first five minutes of class, so they chattered away, as per usual, and I tuned them out, as per usual. Our straggler was generally quite worth the wait, anyway. Despite the delay, he was usually punctual when showing up to the classroom when most students would take their time in the hallways and delay their arrival further.

He arrived in the usual time, knocking at the closed door to request admittance to the classroom. Edward Elric was actually rather short of stature for a 15 or 16-year old guy, but with any luck on his part, he'd shoot up like a weed in a year or two. He kept his blond hair but always braided down his back. Despite being a serious scholar, he'd been accused of dressing like a delinquent with his tendency toward black leather pants and skin-tight black t-shirts.

But even as is, there was something incredibly appealing about the golden-eyes child. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but even _I_ could see his appear, even thought I was some-what involved elsewhere. On autopilot, I took the pass from him and sent him to his seat. He winced as he sat down.

_Oh, yeah_, I thought. _When they strip-searched a student, policy states that there is also a cavity check._ I winced internally in sympathy and hoped for his sake that he knew how to deal with such a… physical intrusion. Because as uncomfortable as it could be if you did, it could be a great deal more painful when you had no idea how to handle it.

Trying hard to tearing my attention from him, I launched into my lesson, hitting hard on my main points while twenty teenagers took notes. My eyes always came back to him, though, and I would see flashes of expressions he quickly covered with an impressive mask of boredom. As if I would fall for that. Not only was I a master of masks myself, I'd see his quiz scores: he was no more bored in this class than _I _was.

As the class drew to a close and I gave them their assignment, I paused to remind them: "Don't forget that your research papers are due next Monday."

All of the students nodded like little bobble-head dolls and started gathering their books. When the bell rang, they hurried out the door like a blazing fire was nipping at their heels.

All of the students except for my little blond straggler.

* * *

_Ed:_

I gulped once, astounded to be alone presence of my incredibly attractive English teacher. And then I took slow, hesitant steps to his desk. "Mustang-sensei, I really don't get the way you want the paper structured."

I blushed, embarrassed. Shit. This was what I got for getting so into my Japanese class.

He nodded, his jet-black hair shinning under the florescent lights. "Do you have something you have to do at lunch, Ed?" he drawled softly, his voice rich and smooth, like dark velvet.

I smiled apologetically but nodded. "I have to finish my project in Ceramics."

"Then after school? Immediately after homeroom, perhaps?" he suggested.

"That would be perfect. Thank you, Mustang-sensei." I scooped up my books and hurried out of the room, traumatized and embarrassed and probably soon-to-be-late for my next class, Ceramics. It wasn't until I put away my copy of "Catcher in the Rye" that I realized I'd called him "sensei" a second time.

I took off at a dead run down the hallway, just narrowly managing to step into the room a second before the bell rang out.

"Niiice job, Elric," Havoc greeted cheerfully before taking a drag odd his ever-present cigarette.

No one knew if Havoc was his first name or his last name, just as no one knew how he managed to get away with smoking in his classroom. All we really knew about him was that he loved what he taught and that he was a genuine ladies' man that still believed in chivalry.

I wasn't exactly sure why, but I really liked the quirky man. I liked to believe it was because his particular zest for life was so contagious. Either that or it was the fact that he seemed to have no trouble accepting that one of his students had prosthetic limbs. He always liked to smile at me, and I never could keep myself from smiling back at him.

I couldn't help but smile at him. "Uh, thanks."

I hurried to retrieve my most recent project –a thrown pot that had a diameter of nearly three inches at the base. It had to be ready to be fired again after school today so that it would make it in time for the project deadline. Unfortunately, this pot would take some time to glaze –especially the interior– because the dimensions fluctuated so much. It was close to five inches in diameter at its widest point and only two inches in diameter at its narrowest. Hence me being pretty sure I would have to come in at lunch to finish it.

I walked to the cart where the glazes were kept. I hadn't decided what color I wanted this piece to be yet, so I took a few moments to go through the variety. My nose wrinkled involuntarily as I came across one I had used previously on a coil-pot that I had been forbidden to smooth out. It came out looking like an intestine and even my sweet younger brother made fun of it.

"Ah!" I exclaimed softly, finding one that was a lovely shade of dark green. This would be perfect!

Quickly, I returned to my seat at began to glaze the outside of the pot. It only took a few strokes to realize I had selected one that had color flecks on accident. I picked up the jar and read the label fully this time. _Oh, so the flecks will turn brown. Well, that won't hurt things. I'll just coordinate the glaze I use on the interior._

I had mostly covered the exterior when a pair of warm, strong arms slid around my torso and pulled me back against a wall of warm chest. It compromised my balance on the stool, but so long as they didn't pull away quickly, I should survive without cracking my head open on the floor. From the feel of things, I figured that the person embracing me was male. And there should only be one male in this class with me that would be touching me this way.

He placed a kiss on my cheek and I felt my skin heat. He _knew_ I hated his public displays of affection, yet he still persisted in doing it almost everyday!

"Hey, Ed," he whispered, his breath puffing against my ear and making me shiver.

_Ugh, does he _have_ to go after an erogenous zone every time he does this?!_ I wondered, trying not to lose my cool.

"H-hey, Russ," I returned. I would have been happier to see my boyfriend if he hadn't just pulled that stunt, if you want the truth. I also would have been happier to see my boyfriend if he wasn't _still_ nagging me about sex. It wasn't like we weren't sexually active together –sometimes, it felt like that was all there was to our relationship: hand-job here, blow-job there, rinse, lather and repeat. He was just having trouble dealing with the fact that I wasn't ready to let him take it farther, even after three months together.

Honestly, the attraction and the fact I really didn't want to be alone were the only things that kept us together at this point.

"Russell! Stop molesting Edward and get back to work!" Havoc ordered him suddenly. "Your project is pretty far from done and it needs to be ready to fire after school."

Russ sighed. "Yes, Havoc, sir." He pressed another kiss to my lips before heading back to his seat to do as Havoc bade him.

I got back to work on glazing my project. I was about to get up to retrieve a different glaze when Havoc came over to check my progress. "It's turning out well, Ed." He lowered his voice a little. "Hope you didn't mind me yelling at him. You looked a little uncomfortable and a mite angry at him."

I smiled up at my teacher. "Oh, it's more than fine. He knows I hate his PDA problem, and he needs to work on it. Not everyone is as accepting of our kind of relationship." I was silent for a moment. "So you really think it's turning out well?"

He set his hands on my shoulders. "Would I say it if I didn't mean it?" he asked me. I could hear the grin in his voice.

Like an ingrained reaction, a smile pulled at the corners of my lips."Thanks," I told him.

He gave me a nod and let me get back to work.

_He's a little crazy, but he's a good guy,_ I decided. And he did a good job lifting my spirits.

* * *

_Ed:_

I knew that Russ could be possessive, but this was getting a little beyond possessive and a little closer to ridiculous!

"Havoc _wasn't_ coming on to me! Seriously, Russ, the man is straighter than Al and just as likely to make a move on me. Where in the hell did you get _that_ hare-brained notion?" I demanded.

My boyfriend was normal very rational and lucid, but right now he seemed to be hanging out at the other end of that spectrum.

My words did seem to calm him a bit. He looked at me for a long, awkward moment. "You're just so cute, Ed. I don't want anyone to take you from me."

I just stared at him, passing period forgotten entirely. "Russ, I won't be 'taken' from you unless _I_ permit it, and normally, I like being with you. So could you stop worrying so damn much about _nothing_?" I asked him.

My eyes scanned the emptying hallway and my brain returned to the situation at hand. "Shit! I'm going to be late for Phys Ed!" I took off running, my relationship issues completely forgotten as I sprinted to the weight room. Somehow, I managed to arrive just before the bell rang, managing to startle Mr. Armstrong.

He stared at me for a moment, but a smile crept across his lips when he realized just _why_ I'd been running like the hounds of hell where nipping at my heels. "Catch your breath, Edward," he instructed me. "You know that I wouldn't have counted you tardy. You're my only student this hour, anyway."

He was yet another teacher that prompted me to smile back every time he smiled at me. "I know, Mr. Armstrong. But I like this hour a lot."

Havoc and Mr. Armstrong were the only teachers that were aware of my prosthetics. Havoc was aware because it took me a little longer to get out of his class room –I hated how the clay clung to the crevices of my arm and it took forever to get it out. Mr. Armstrong was aware because it became difficult to hide artificial limbs in work-out clothes. Both teachers still treated me like just another student, which was the reason I was okay with them being aware of the limbs, so long as they didn't ask many questions about them.

Mr. Armstrong –I think his first name was Alex or something like that– could be a bit intimidating to look at, I suppose. He looked vaguely like a circus strongman, but he was endlessly kind and cheerful and amiable. He had an easy laugh and a sensitive heart. He was kind of like a big teddy bear in the body of a body-builder.

"Are you ready to get started, Edward?" he asked.

"Bring it on, Mr. A," I replied with a smile on my face.

* * *

**…So far, the changes are minor, but I like them. Hope y'all do, too… ^^**

**Oh! Just so you know, I am keeping to the same portions that I posted originally as each chapter with each edit. So it's a lot of edit work in relatively small portions, but I hope you all agree it's worth it :)**

**Anywho, due to thisdamnsnowstorm, I spent a lot of time working on this one last night! :hearts:**

**PS: If you want to know which chapters have been edited, they all have titles now~**


	2. When It's Over, Are We Free?

**You know, there's something I noticed as I reread this story when I was editing it:  
I never used the title in the text. **

**No shit. These two characters are so obviously infatuated with each other, but neither of them ever used the word "infatuation". Since I feel that such an oversight falls under the category of "sick and wrong", I found the perfect place to have my characters use it.**

**Ironically, both use it in chapter 2. Let's just say they're of one mind~ haha.**

**Oh, and the material in this chapter put the M in "dreaM" :P**

**Here's the edit of part two, my dears!**

* * *

_Roy:_

I was in the middle of teaching my third hour class when I became aware of the fact that I couldn't get Edward Elric out of my head. The discovered was more than just abrupt –it was rather strange. While I taught a class that I _should _be giving all of my attention almost on autopilot, my thoughts revolved around the blond boy who was _always _late to my class.

It had been more than an hour since I'd seen him, but I could remember what he wore, how he walked, and the mirco-expressions he worked so hard to hide. _You know you've become a dirty old man when…_ I chastised myself. Yet I still couldn't think about anything else expect that boy.

I'd seen enough before he'd covered with his masks to know that he was in a lot of pain. I just had trouble figuring out if it was emotional of physical.

Even if I was having trouble keeping my mind of the subject at hand, I wasn't sure whether to be proud or frightened that none of my students caught on to it. I'd already taught this lesson twice, so I could remember all of the right words and all of the right motions. I'd always been a quick study.

When the bell rang and my class filed out of the classroom, I sat down behind my desk and set my head in my hands. Trying to get him out of my head just gave me a headache, yet I was still trying to do just that. I had a single moment of success before a sound made me jerk upright and look to the door.

"What's wrong, Roy?" Maes asked, propping himself up against the doorway.

My sigh felt like it weighed a ton. "My head hurts, is all," I told him, offering him a weak smile that I knew he'd attribute to the pain. It wasn't _exactly_ a lie, per say, but for some reason, I felt guilty lying to him. Which was ridiculous, since I'd known him _forever_ and had never had any trouble lying to him before.

He stepped into my room and stood beside me. His eyes shot to the empty hallway before he pressed a kiss to my temple. "Take something for it, then. You get crabby when your head hurts," he told me with a soft smile.

My returning smile was weak. "I intend to, Maes."

He smiled at me again and nodded to me once before heading back across the hall to his own classroom. I watched him leave, pondering the sudden appearance of my married lover's caring nature for a moment before digging through my desk. I knew there was a bottle of Advil in there somewhere: it was the only thing that killed my headaches.

Maes and I had known each other since we were ten, but we'd only been lovers since high school. I thought it would all end six years ago, when he started courting Gracia, but when he married Gracia five years ago, he said nothing about ending our relationship. We'd been together for a long time, but I always felt like his dirty little secret –probably because he was in a heterosexual relationship as well. Honestly, I had no illusions about our relationship: he would never leave his wife for me.

I was simply his best friend and his lover –the honey on the side, the dirty little secret that proved him bisexual that his wife had no clue about. I was used to it by now –it had been close to ten years, so if I wasn't used to it, I never would be. Every now and then, I wondered why I was still with a man who was ashamed to be with me. I decided I liked the cloak-and-dagger of being an affair. I also decided that I was more than a little scared of being alone.

_I don't want to think about all of this now,_ I told myself, shoving my mess with Maes as far out of my mind as far as I could.

Yet as soon as I had done that, the image of a petite blond boy in leather pants and a skin-tight black t-shirt crept back into my mind. We were only three months into the new school year, and this was more than the third straight week that I was having this problem. Edward Elric fascinated me. No, more than fascinated… more like obsessed, which was certainly not healthy.

_Am I infatuated with one of my students?_ I wondered. _No! No way in _hell_ am I trading in one forbidden relationship for another –or trying to carry on two of the damn things, heaven forbid!_

My headache hadn't receded yet, but I pleasantly greeted my next class as they filed in. I was still trying to get him out of my head, but I was about ready to give up.

_If only there was a pill to get rid of infatuation,_ I thought wryly.

* * *

_Ed:_

As always, I was smiling as I left Phys Ed. Mr. Armstrong was an incredibly easy person to be around, and I enjoyed his sense of humor. Plus, endorphins make you happy.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. A," I told him before heading to my locker. I didn't lock it during the school day –locking it made it that much harder to get to class on time– so I quickly grabbed my history textbook and headed for class.

To say that my history class was never a particularly pleasant experience would be a gross understatement. Our instructor Mr. Kimblee was very blood-thirsty individual, as we all found out. When we actually did something in class, all we ever studied were wars –the bloodier the better. Every time we did, he got a frighteningly hungry gleam in his eyes that made me very wary of him. Needless to say, the man gave me the creeps and he was far from my favorite teacher.

I walked into his classroom and took my seat. My prosthetic leg clinked softly against the metal desk leg and I grimaced. The reverberations shot up my leg and into what remained of the flesh it replaced. I took it as an omen that this class would be awkward, at best. I quietly watched as the rest of my classmates filed into the room and found their seats. It amused me to note that several of them wore a grimace, as though they already felt that it wouldn't be a pleasant class.

Mr. Kimblee, a tall man with dark hair and strangely-slanted eyes, strode to the front of the room. "G'morning, class. I don't want to teach today, so we're watching one of my _favorite_ movies."

Leaning to the left, I touched the arm of the boy who sat next to me. "Hey, Ryan, would you wake me up at the end of class?"

He gave me a smile and a nod before opening his book. I knew he would read instead of watching the film, because he was a little squeamish at times. Whatever the film, if Kimblee was showing it, it was bound to be gory.

Sighing softly, I folded my arms on my desk and pillowed my head against the crook of my left elbow. Since I didn't get enough sleep of the best of days, it didn't come as a surprise that I fell asleep quickly.

I dreamt of softly calloused hands, of jet-black hair, of slightly slanted obsidian eyes, of a velvet voice with a soft drawl.

_Hot water cascaded down over our naked bodies. The tiles were pleasantly cool against my back as he pressed me against the wall, his hot mouth both giving and greedy over mine. He stoked the fire of my desire to new heights with the combination of his clever tongue, his questing fingertips, and the sheer contact between our bodies._

_Yet all of the sensations came to a sudden hault. I watched him move away from me, a question in my lust-clouded eyes. Then, he dropped to his knees in front of me. I was pretty sure I'd lost the ability to _breathe_ when he drew my cock into his hot mouth, yet somehow a choked cry of pleasure managed to wrench itself free from my throat._

_My fingers laced into the silk of his hair, trying to anchor _one_ of us. I honestly wasn't sure if it was him or me. Hell, I wasn't sure I could give my own name if asked!_

_I moaned, the sound low and loud. "I-I'm so c-close…!" I warned him. I was surprised that the statement was even close to comprehendible._

_His reply was to increase the suction and the sensation. It was as though he knew instinctively how to play my body to receive the maximum response. It wasn't long until I came, crying out "S-sensei" as I met the euphoria and oblivion._

Strangely, out of the oblivion reached a single cool hand that rested on my left arm until I lifted my head.

_Oh. Ryan._ My brain processed slowly.

I glanced at the clock: two minutes until we could escape our creepy teacher. A perfectly timed wake-up call. I gave him a thumbs up, and the shy boy responded with a smile.

_What a vivid dream,_ I thought, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I had yet to decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I'd been having dreams like that about my English teacher since the start of the school year. Either way, having such dreams _at school_ was definitely new and definitely not a good thing.

_When will this infatuation end?_ I wondered. I wasn't sure if I wanted it to leave, really. Infatuations never lasted unless they were more than that, and I had never had an infatuation last so long. Then again, I usually didn't get infatuated with men who probably couldn't touch me without breaking their code of ethics.

I glanced down to make sure it hadn't been a _literal_ wet dream. It hadn't, but the raging hard-on was going to make it _incredibly_ uncomfortable to walk to my next class in a few minutes. As if on cue, the bell rang. I tried not to sigh as stood up to trek to my next class. It took a lot of work to not grimace as I put one foot in front of the other.

Luckily for me, the restraint of my tight leather pants made my throbbing arousal less noticeable. Unluckily, the taunt stretched leather made the whole situation quite painful.

_Life is pain. Anyone who says any different is selling something,_ I thought wryly, thinking the line from one of Winry's favorite films incredibly appropriate.

* * *

_Roy:_

Maes sauntered into my now empty classroom a few minutes after the tardy bell. He closed the door behind him, which told me _exactly_ what was on his mind. The perk of sharing a prep-period with your boyfriend is rather glaringly obvious. However, after three hours of having _that boy_ on the brain, I was in no mood for sex –well, not sex with _Maes_. So, in a rare effort to be subtle, I completely ignored his entrance and kept grading last Friday's homework and cursing myself for falling so far behind on my grading.

Unaccustomed to that response, he walked quietly and stood behind me. When he placed his hands on my shoulders, I fought the urge to shrug them off. Instead, I just continued to ignore him and work. Well, I did until he pressed a kiss to my neck and proceeded to nibble on the flesh there.

_How devious, Maes. Going straight for the erogenous zone isn't usually your speed,_ I chastised in my mind, but remained silent.

I jerked away from the contact. "Not today, Maes. I'm not in the mood. Plus, I'm behind on my grading."

"Roy," he coaxed, whispering in my ear before nipping at my earlobe. "It's been two days. _I want you._"

"No." _If I have to tell him that's my final answer, I might have to slap him._

He made another attempt to persuade me, this time with light kisses under my ear and his hands sliding sensuously across my chest.

"Maes, stop it," I told him flatly.

I felt him still against me. Shock radiated off of him like a strong perfume. I was a little shocked, too. Usually, I would have been ready to go after a bit of his persuasion –after all, the caresses he used as enticements were always the ones he knew I was weak against. Yet today, I just… _couldn't_. Not with _that boy_ still lingering in the back of my mind.

"Maybe we should call it quits, Maes." I hadn't meant to say it, but I honestly couldn't deny that it needed to be said. Maes and I didn't love each other, not like lovers should. We were all about sex, and I felt as though we cheapened our friendship by maintain such a shallow connection. Besides, Maes had a beautiful wife and an adorable daughter that he adored. What we had together in no way compared to _that_.

When he looked at me, his eyes betrayed his deep sadness. "Maybe we should. I don't feel like I'm enough for you anymore."

I stared at him. How could he think that? "No, it's not that. I love you, Maes; I always have. I just don't love you like that. I can't give you what you need. And what about Gracia and Elysia? Don't they deserve so much more from us that this?" I know my expression softened as I reached out and touched his face. "Maes, we can still be friends, but I don't think we should have ever tired to be more than that."

He turned away quickly, but I saw the flash of tears before he did. "See! This is why that started at all! You're shutting me out all over again, Roy!"

I stood and wrapped my arms around him. laying my head against his sturdy shoulder, I released a sad sigh. "I'm not shutting you out. You're still my best friend. You will _always_ be my best friend."

I felt it when he began to sob, but he persisted in crying silently. Still, I knew that this was the best decision –especially for him.

* * *

_Ed:_

"-So if the pull of gravity against the bullet is -32, what would our first term be?" asked our leggy blond Calculus teacher as she crossed the room, her gun pointed in the air.

I raised my hand.

"Yes, Edward?"

"-16t2, ma'am," I replied respectfully, being one of the only guys in the class who didn't turn into a puddle of goo on the desk when she pulled out the gun she held now and began our story problem. And it wasn't like they couldn't have deduced it was coming. Ms. Hawkeye loved guns, and she liked to make our story problems more real by using props. The real question was how she got the gun into the school.

"Very good, Ed." She smiled at me, the curving of her lips quite attractive –well, if one liked women.

We finished our example quickly, even though it was only a pretty brunette named Johanna and I giving answers. I scribbled the assignment in my planner and ignored the rest of the room in favor of a Jim Butcher novel I'd read twice before. What could I say? I loved Harry's brother. I couldn't concentrate on the assignment in the classroom, anyway, and Ms. Hawkeye was well aware of that fact.

The hands that settled onto my shoulders were small yet strong. Looking up, I discovered that it was Ms. Hawkeye, her eyes smiling down at me. "Good book?" she asked.

I nodded and smiled back. "Good enough to read three times and I _still _laugh at every single joke like I don't know it's coming."

Her lips quirked into a smile at that. "Maybe I'll try the series, then." She walked away only when she was flagged down by another student who needed help.

She'd grown used to my idiosyncrasies, and she didn't make a big deal out of them as long as I turned in my homework every day. A classroom setting was not good for my concentration. The volume level ranged from the dull roar of students needing help to absolute silence on test days. I needed nature, rhythm, and a less stuffy environment to work well, so that was why I waited. Besides, I enjoyed the opportunity to spend more time with Al.

The bell rang, and the rest of the students rushed to the lunch room. I took my time gathering my things, wished Ms. Hawkeye a pleasant day, and started down the hall toward my locker. Once there, I dumped my Calculus book and picked up my Chemistry book before starting for the lunch room.

I'd only taken three steps when my body was slammed against the wall of lockers. Bullying was next to non-existent in this school, but it could happen.

"Wha-?" I started to ask, but my lips were hurriedly covered by someone else's, leading into a demanding kiss. There was one person who kissed me that way and got away with it, but he wouldn't be getting away with it any longer. Planting my flesh hand in the middle of his chest, I gave him a good shove.

"Russell, stop it," I hissed out, still pushing against him because he'd only moved about an inch and it wasn't anywhere _near_ far enough away from me with the mood he was stirring up.

"No one's coming," he coaxed, purring out the words like they would change my mind. "C'mon, Ed."

I kept pushing him back. "No. You know how I feel about PDA, Russ."

"No one's coming," he tried.

"No," I replied, finality in my tone. I was not an exhibitionist, and I refused to be made one by his choices. "Damn it all, Russ, if you can't respect it when I say 'no', how in the hell am I supposed to trust you? We've been together for three months now: you should be well aware of the boundaries and just how far they go. Screw it. I'm done with this. It's over."

His eyes widened in shock and he stepped back as thought I had suddenly slapped him.

I honestly didn't care. It was over and it felt as though a heavy weight had suddenly been lifted off of my shoulders. I walked away without a backward glance.

* * *

_Roy:_

Someone had once told me that sighing sent all of your happiness away. With that amount of sighing that I had been doing today, I sort of felt that they might be right.

Maes and I were over. It was official. I knew that I had let it go on longer than it should have. Maes had been using physical closeness to try to overcome emotional distance. I honestly couldn't see how I hadn't noticed it before. He had approached me only when I'd begun to withdraw from our friendship in high school. It was tragically ironic, but his efforts had certainly shot us both in the foot. Believing the relationship about nothing more than sex, I had drawn even further away from my best friend. As for Maes, he spent five years of marriage teetering on the verge of ruining his own happiness because of our relationship.

I was hoping that we could overcome the whole mess. I believed the first hurtle would be mine, since I'd spent nine years thinking of him as my lover and not as my best friend. I would have to get back in the habit of confiding in him.

I already looked forward to spending time with his family. Gracia was like a sister and a friend, and little Elysia was my goddaughter. I couldn't wait to see them without that familiar pang a guilt in the pit of my stomach.

The whole situation had tired both of us out more than sex ever had. Crossing my arms on my desk, I laid my head down and closed my eyes. A short nap would certainly help me get through the rest of the day.

It surprised me how easily I found sleep.

_My fingers carded through the golden satin of his hair. Gently, I tugged his lips to mine. Our kiss was hungry and out of control, just like I felt. His hands slid down from my neck to slowly caress the planes of my chest, like he instinctively knew just how weak I was against that action. My hands wouldn't stay still either, eager as they were to learn the pleasures of his body. One of my hands stroked at his hips for a few moments before sliding a lower to caress his hardening cock. The sweetest moan I ever heard escaped past his lush lips._

_It brought a smile to my own lips, along with the need to claim him and his body for myself. I lifted the heavy satin of his hair aside and latched onto his neck. When I drew back, I was proud to see the purpling love bite at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. His hands seemed eager for their own exploration, as well. Unlike me, however, he went straight for the prize, caressing my cock through my pants until I was certain that my knees no longer had the ability to hold me up. His lips twisted into a wicked smile as he slowly stroked me until restraint became a thing of the past and I released my own wanton moan. _

_He brought his smirking lips to whisper in my ear. "Sensei, I want you." Then he planted a tender kiss below my ear._

_"I want you, too, Ed," I returned, pretty sure that my breathing would never return back to normal if he kept looking at me like that and touching me like that. The next time I brought my lips to his, I was certain my kiss echoes my desperation, as did the way I moved against him. the gasping sound of pleasure he could no longer contain made me feel that he was at least as desperate as I was._

The bell rang, startling me awake and intruding on my dream. I sat straight up, unable to believe that I could have slept through a time when I had students coming in. It took me a muzzy moment to register that it was the tardy bell that always rang five minutes after the students were dismissed for lunch.

Sighing, I set my head in my hands. Apparently, I was stuck on the way he called me 'sensei' this morning.

_The inappropriate thoughts were bad enough. Must I have dreams about him as well?_

I couldn't deny how much the dream had aroused me –it was quite hard and obvious in my dress slacks.

I sighed. There was really only one thing I could do about the situation. So I rose to my feet and, thanking god that the hallway was completely empty, hurried to the bathroom to take care of it before I had to deal with my students.

_Well this is a brand new low,_ I thought wryly.

* * *

**I feel bad. I made Maes cry. I love Maes. :sob:**

**Anyway! Those of you who read the original may notice that two of these scenes have been extended a bit –especially the Maes/Roy break-up. I felt that that ending could use a little more closure… (oh, that's lame in the middle of a story, lol) so you see a little more of the reasoning behind Roy calling it quits and him comforting his best friend. Oh, and you also find out how they ended up in that relationship when they don't love each other that way. It's tooth-numbingly sweet.**

**Yet, you may notice that that Ed's break-up scene shortened. You have more of an understanding of why he ended it but less closure to the relationship. It felt more real for the couple that Ed and Russell were in this story.**

**You all better ****_love_**** me! Ed's dream literally doubled in length (plus, it's much better now :P). And Roy's is more than double the length and is also much more vivid~**

**Anyway, I thought I'd preserve something from the original ANs, so here's my post chapter conversation!**

**Post-Chapter Conversation:**  
**Ed: **Damn, man. You seriously did _that_ after a dream? At _school_? Are you sure _I'm_ the teenager, here?  
**Roy: ***blushes uncharacteristically*  
**Sins: **Ed, that's a complement, ok?  
**Ed: **Huh?  
**Sins: ***smiles and kisses Ed on the forehead* You'll get it later, when you know what his dream was about.  
**Ed: ***under his breath* Probably Ms. Hawkeye  
**Roy:** *smirks* You can keep on believing that  
**Sins: ***smacks Roy upside the head*


	3. Selective Oblivion

**This chapter was originally incredibly short –a little over 250 words.**

**Well, I can't work miracles without changing the rules on myself, so this will probably ****_still_**** be the shortest chapter, but bear with me ^^**

* * *

_Ed:_

"What, exactly, do you mean by 'over'?" my best friend asked me. I was lucky she hadn't leaned over the table and grabbed me. She really did like being the first to know these things.

"Done. Finished. Fin. Owari. The End." I reiterated, rolling my eyes up and trying to think of more ways to say the same thing. "We broke up. Well, more accurately, I broke up with him, but still."

"I was kind of wondering when it would happen," Al remarked between bites of his lunch –the school favorite, cheeseburger and curly fries. "I knew he kept pushing on the PDA thing. And, well… other boundaries you don't abandon for no reason," he finished, side-stepping the whole issue of sex, which he knew had been a problem in my relationship.

I nodded to my brother. It didn't surprise me that Al had noticed, but it did surprise me that Winry hadn't. My baby brother did know me so very well –better than I wished, at times.

"I… Sorry. I hadn't realized," Winry told me softly.

"You can do better, anyway, Brother." Al offered me a smile.

I arched my brow at him. Mr. Alphonse Still-With-The-Same-Girlfriend-Since-Middle-School Elric, himself, was offering _me_ relationship advice? _Without_ referring to me as a 'player', which I was convinced was a polite term for 'man whore'?

He blushed and looked away awkwardly, perhaps recalling a similar past conversation that had ended badly because that word had been thrown in. "I… I've just noticed that you haven't exactly gone unnoticed by the guys of the student body."

Winry inclined her head in agreement. "The more attractive half of them, Alphonse and yourself excluded of course."

I shook my head. Trust me to remain oblivious to the fact I had a wider dating pool that I thought while they picked up on it. How like me to suffer from selective oblivion. "Thanks."

This time Winry _did_ lean over the table, only without the killing intent. She kissed my cheek. "No problem, Ed. Now, find someone who will treat you better."

There was no point in telling her that I didn't _deserve_ better than that. She'd just tell me 'Love isn't about what you think you deserve, Ed. Seriously, look at me and Al.' besides, I wasn't interested in anyone that I deserved. An image of moon-pale skin, jet-black hair, and shimmering obsidian eyes popped into my head, but I shoved it away. It was no use being infatuated with one of my teachers. It wasn't like there was even an ice cube's chance in Hell that my feelings would be reciprocated, anyway.

Hurriedly, I finished the rest of my lunch and rushed to Havoc's room, knowing I needed to finish the project on time or the easy-going man wouldn't be quite so easy-going. Gritting my teeth, I hoped Russell wouldn't be in the classroom. Then I cheered myself up with the fact that Havoc wouldn't hesitate to scold him.

Then I tried to tell myself that my English teacher wasn't on my mind.

Hey, selective oblivion should work in my favor sometimes.

* * *

**It is really short. I can't believe I posted that as a chapter… . Oh well. Still leaving the PCCs for y'all ^^**

**Post-Chapter Conversation:**  
**Sins: **Russell, how could you not notice?!  
**Russell: ***defensive* Hey, don't ask me! _You're_ the one who made _me_ the bad guy!  
**Al: ***rolls his eyes*  
**Winry: ***smacks Russell* Stop whining! You know she'd no more in charge than you are!


	4. Talents Hidden Are Talents Wasted

**This is another short section, but it does provide some important development –if I write it right…**

**Argh, foreshadowing is difficult .**

* * *

_Ed:_

I was a little worried about my chemistry teacher. Mr. Hughes was normally a boisterous, smiling man who was always excited and prepared to teach, even when he was sick.

Today, Mr. Hughes looked like hell. His eyes were red –like he'd been crying– and he was completely scatter-brained and unprepared. He gave us the entire period free, murmuring that we would catch up tomorrow.

I was curious and more than a little worried about what had upset him so badly that he couldn't teach. Honestly, I had believed that the apocalypse could come and that man would _still_ be excited about teaching high school chemistry. I couldn't imagine what had been so catastrophic that it had done this to him. He was literally silently staring at a wall, and it was worrisome.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I wondered if I could do anything to snap him out of his funk. My eyes lighted on the picture frame he was clutching in his hand. Even from this angle, I knew it was a photo of his family, though I'd never seen it. I recalled him talking about the picture a bit, once, a while ago. He said that everyone that was precious to him was in that picture: his wife, his daughter, and his best friend.

Smiling, I remembered meeting his daughter. Elysia and I had ended up sharing a seat on the bus one morning. She was a cheerful, sweet kid who could be a bit shy at times, but mostly, she'd talked my ear off. When she proudly told me her daddy taught chemistry, I had known immediately whose child she was. _Maybe a drawing of her could help cheer him up some?_ I wondered.

Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, it was something to do –something more productive than sleeping on my desk. Quickly, I plucked my sketchbook out of the pile of books I carried to each class and dug out a mechanical pencil and an additional eraser. It was a bit harder than it sounded. Tenderly, I transcribed the lines of her face to the paper. I added shadows, but ended up removing a good portion of them. The happy gleam in her eye was simple to add, but it had to draw her wide smile several times before I was satisfied. But when I finished five minutes before the bell rang, I was very proud of the likeness I had produced.

When the bell rang, all of my classmates hurried out to their lockers and to their next class. I lingered around my seat, then walked to the front when the room was all but empty.

"Mr. Hughes?" I asked hesitantly.

He turned to face me and I was struck by the sadness lingering in his eyes. "Yes, Edward?"

"Cheer up, okay? Class today was… weird," I told him, handing him the drawing and hurrying out of the room before he could remark on anything I'd said.

* * *

_Roy:_

Maes walked into my room slowly, as though preoccupied and yet still needing to talk to me.

I looked up at him, a little startled to see him so soon. He had not taken our last encounter well. Yet, perhaps it was a testament to the fact we _were_ still best friends. Anything that troubled him or interested him could and would be brought to me on any occasion. Maybe this was a sign that we _would_ eventually be able to get back to a normal rhythm.

_Trust Maes to take that first step without even thinking about it,_ I mused.

"What is it, Maes?" I asked, careful that my tone and inflection didn't make him feel like a nuisance.

"Did you know that Edward Elric could draw?" he asked me, handing me a piece of sketchbook paper that just _had_ to be what had him so preoccupied.

I took it gently and gazed at the image.

It was a beautiful, evocative drawing of my goddaughter. It didn't feel so much like a drawing as a snapshot of her joy. "No. No, I had no clue. I also wasn't aware that he knew Elysia," I remarked, my eyes still drawn to the image. Her big smile, her innocent eyes… the features that were definitely _her_ stared back at me from the page and seemed to drill a hole in my heart.

_What other talents and things might this boy be hiding? Hasn't he ever heard that a talent hidden is a talent wasted?_ I wondered.

* * *

_Ed:_

Kain-sensei had a severe tendency toward formality. I supposed it could be expected, seeing as the Japanese language had so much formality built into it.

Ironically, formality touched ever inch of him except for his name. Kain-sensei disliked his surname, he had explained to us on the first day of class, so he chose to use his first name –with 'sensei' tacked on as his honorific, of course– with his students. I wasn't sure if he really disliked it all that much, but I knew his last name would be difficult for the beginning Japanese speaker to pronounce. He would have changed it for that reason: he was such a softie for his students.

Kain-sensei could be a bit naïve at times, but he was still a very wonderful teacher. He made learning Japanese incredibly fun and interactive. He liked to use activities, songs, and rhythms to help us remember things like grammar, structure, honorifics, and groups of words. He also liked to teach us traditional Japanese songs to add to our cultural experience. Luckily for us, Kain-sensei had a lovely baritone singing voice.

Today, we were covering an additional set of words for family members. He led us through a new song with a rhythm that allowed him to fit in all of our new words with their English equivalents. Honestly, he had to be running out of tunes and rhythms for these things, but I had a feeling he still had more. Where he got them all would remain a mystery.

Our learning activity over for the day, he turned us loose to converse among ourselves in Japanese –to help us practice using the words in conversations, he insisted.

Winry, who sat beside me, touched my hand. "Any prospects?" she asked, careful to keep her voice low enough that Kain-sensei wouldn't hear her speaking English when she wasn't supposed to be.

I shook my head. "No one really interests me right now."

I was lying through my teeth, but honestly, it was better than convincing myself I had a chance with my English teacher. This was _my life_, not a manga!

She nodded slowly. I could tell she didn't quite buy it, but it really didn't matter.

After that, we sat there in stiff silence until the bell rang again, dismissing us to our daily homeroom period.

* * *

**I've gotta be getting close to the half-way mark! *pants***

**Ah, the suspense is building again, right? …God, I hope so! **

**…The closest thing ****_I_**** have to suspense right now is cramps in my fingers .**


	5. Anticipation

**…I don't even want to think about the number of hours I've put into this piece right now… Maybe I need some Elton John? He might free up my fingers some, lol**

* * *

_Roy:_

Was it weird that for the first time in three months, I wanted to pout because I had no homeroom class?

The school used 'homeroom' kind of like a big study hall for all of the students, but there hadn't been enough students enrolled this year to fill out another homeroom class. The school's policy that no student was allowed in the hallway during that hour kind of defeated the purpose of the whole thing, in my opinion. Bathroom breaks were exceptions, but visiting a teacher to get help wasn't. I don't know how it helped any of the kids who weren't in homeroom with a teacher they needed help from.

I didn't really want a homeroom class, but I _did_ want a distraction.

Once more, I stared at the image Ed had created. I wasn't sure why Maes had left it with me, actually. Maybe he sensed my fascination with the boy; maybe he would stare at it clear through his classes if he hadn't left it with me. Maybe there was a different answer, but it really didn't matter. Either way, he'd left it in my hands and I continued to study the image like there was some hidden meaning behind it all.

There was just _something_ about it. It felt like he had somehow captured the essence of my goddaughter in the image. He'd captured her expression, her look, perfectly. The wisp of her hair, the quirk of her lips, the happiness that shined back from her eyes for the entire world to see. But there was something in it that _screamed_ of her innocence. I couldn't place what it was, but some instinct in me knew that it was important. There was a _reason_ that it was her innocence that resonated most from the picture.

Closing my eyes, I set the drawing face down on my desk. If I didn't, I knew I would just keep staring at it, trying to discern the truth from an image that could not speak but spoke to me. He was so talented, so bright, so outstanding. In many ways, he really was a light that drew people in. However, those weren't the things that pulled me closer and closer.

The thing I couldn't seem to get away from was the flashes of pain I saw in his golden eyes. What I had realized a few weeks ago was that I wanted to sooth away that pain. I didn't want him to become as jaded and hidden as I had. I wanted to be the one who helped to make him whole, who helped to make him thrive. It was a selfish desire: I understood that better than most. Nothing was more selfish than wanting to fix someone, especially since they might not want to be fixed.

The feelings I recognized in myself were startling and worrisome. Somehow, I'd already gone and fallen hard for a teenager. I was probably nothing more than a teacher to him, and yet there was no way that I could see him as 'just' a student ever again.

* * *

_Ed:_

"Sweet _Shiva_, I'm bored out of my skull!" I told Beka. She was a casual friend of mine, but she was so sweet. We were in several classes together, including both homeroom and English. She was petite and pretty, very popular with the guys. Which might explain exactly why she chose to hang out with _me_ in spare moments.

"Well, why don't you draw something, then?" she asked me, smiling briefly at me before returning to her book.

There were worse things to do to pass time, and I really did love to draw. Of course, I did have an edge over some: my photographic memory. Trying to decide on something to draw was a bit like Russian roulette: the bullet was in there somewhere, but there were five to one odds that you'd be drawing a blank. The first image that popped that I found in the least bit inspirational was a bit startling: Mr. Mustang, his dark silk hair slightly mused, his eyes shimmering with heat. It had come from one of my many dreams, I realized, glad I really didn't blush about anything sexual anymore. Distractedly, figuring that it probably wasn't the best thing to draw at school, as the image my mind had conjured was of him entirely nude, I tried to think about other subject matter.

_Wildlife. Bunnies. Squirrels. God, this is just friggin' nuts!_ I thought, frustrated.

Since I'd failed to come up with another inspirational image, I settled on drawing him anyway. Leaning forward, I began to sketch the outline of his body before making a split-decision: I would draw him only half-naked, in jeans that doubled as a second skin, instead of the naked glory my mind had so clearly depicted for me. My imagination was really good and it had a lot of material to build that lusty look from, anyway. Besides, drawing him half-naked and posing him in such a manner that _begged_ you to finish stripping him was almost more provocative to me that drawing him naked.

At least, if my sketch was discovered, I could blame it on some fan-girl with a bit of a teacher complex. My concentration was so fixed on detailing the one item of clothing that he would be wearing that I didn't even _notice_ it when Beka looked over my shoulder.

"Who are you drawing?" she inquired, her gaze scanning the sketch.

I glanced at my own sketch to find that I'd concentrated so much on the basic form and the jeans that I had neglected to draw his face. Instead of answering her question, I shrugged. Giving her an answer probably would make even _me_ blush, and I wasn't willing to tempt fate.

"You know, it makes me think of Mr. Mustang, somehow."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. That was a little too close for comfort. "Does it?" I asked.

"Mmm, it does. Although, I'd never picture him in jeans. I've only seen him in his work clothes. Very provocative and intense, though," she added, nodding her approval.

"It is rather sexy, isn't it?" I returned softly, my eyes glued to my work-in-progress. "Kinda makes you want to tug those jeans down his hips and let gravity finish stripping him, you know?"

She murmured a sound of agreement. "He _is_ rather sexy, but I do get the feeling that he plays for your team, not mine."

I looked up at her and couldn't contain my smile. "That would be good for my team. Not so much for yours, though you guys _do_ get Havoc."

It seemed that the entire school was somehow aware of my sexual orientation, which didn't really bother me. It influenced my selection of friends, though the school was notoriously open-minded. There were a few people who avoided me like homosexuality was a contagion, but that was _their_ problem, not mine.

She smiled back at me before looping her arms around my shoulders and leaning in so she could keep her voice soft. "Like him, do you?"

I couldn't keep the blush down. "What can I say? He's _really_ sexy. Too sexy to be teaching school, if you ask me." I returned, keeping my voice just as soft as Beka's.

"Elric!" Ms. Armstrong barked out, startling Beka and I apart.

A odd sort of panic settled into my stomach as I thought of how many people could have overheard the earlier part of our conversation. Then I dismissed the whole thing. Nothing 'incriminating' was said in it, anyway. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Mr. Mustang asked me to remind you to stop by his room after school for the help you needed."

I nodded curtly toward her. "Thank you, ma'am."

Ms. Armstrong was Mr. Armstrong's older sister. They were very different people, like night and day. While Mr. Armstrong was charming and friendly, Ms. Armstrong was distant and mistrusting. Others might doubt that they were related, but I was _certain_ they were siblings. Their differences reminded me of Al and myself, yet another pair of siblings that people couldn't reconcile when it came to personalities.

I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. It wasn't odd for a student to have a crush on a teacher, however, it had never happened to me before –not even in middle school, when my awakening hormones had begun to make me _interested._ Such a crush was very normal, even if I wasn't.

Beka touched my arm. "Are you… are you thinking about confessing?"

I scoffed at the notion. "I'm not that crazy yet, Beka. Why would he have any interest in a boy like me?"

The smile she gave me was sort of sad. "You should see how he smiles when you enter the room every morning. It's like he comes to life because of you."

Her supposition was treasure to be hidden deep in my cold heart and not replied to. Instead, I returned to my drawing. Chewing on the end of my pencil, I decided to work on his eyes next. They were always the most troublesome part, no matter who my subject was.

So I sketched the shape of his eyes at their slight slant and framed them with long dark lashes. Next, I drew his irises, then his pupils and the slight reflection of light off of them. I looked at them.

_Perfect._

I had drawn his eyes _perfectly_ on the _first try_. It disturbed me greatly. Even when I drew my brother, as I had done for years, I still had to consult that reference image in my mind. But this man's eyes came to me so easily.

Thoughtfully, I flipped through the nearly-full sketchbook. Of the nearly seventy sketches, at least _fifty_ of them were of him. None of them were dirty, per say. Just a variety of poses: sever of him shirtless, some in casual clothes, some in dress shirts and slacks, one in a suit, even on of him in a tuxedo! I'd been able to gauge his body-type accurately enough that none of the images seemed out of place among the others. I'd also explored many expressions on his usually masked countenance: happy, angry, annoyed, sad, thoughtful, depressed, hungry and innocent being just a small portion of the group I tried out.

The blasted man had haunted my mind –awake and asleep– for _months_, yet it still surprised me to see how many times I'd been able to draw him. Usually, when I fancied someone, I couldn't draw them at all. Mostly, I believed it stemmed from a subconscious fear of the reality not living up to expectations built up by my fantasies. But every dream I had of him sparked an image that demanded to be put on paper. This time around, my biggest fear was that my fantasies, my drawings, would all be eclipsed by the reality of him. Not that I would ever have a chance to discover whether or not this was true, but that was neither here nor there.

I flipped back to the page I was working on. Beka touched my arm gently. "They eyes are all him, Ed."

I smiled softly. "Let's see how I do with the rest of him, hmm?" I shaped his nose and mouth carfully. Then I began to work on his hair. When it was done, it looked so much like the image I'd dreamed of it frightened me.

Beka let out a low whistle. "It makes me want to touch him."

I nodded in agreement. I should have felt guilty for drawing him so much without his permission, but he had features that begged the artist in me to draw them, learn them, memorize them, touch them.

No one really saw the drawings, anyway. What was the harm in indulging myself and drawing him?

* * *

_Roy:_

I waited for the final bell in the same anxious way one awaits marriage: jittery and nervous, happy, excited, and worried. I was about to spend time _alone_ with a boy who had taken on a starring role in my fantasies sine the first time I laid eyes on him. I really didn't want to behave inappropriately toward him, but I was afraid that it would be inevitable when I was presented with the object of my fantasies.

I shook my head, as though it would dislodge the thoughts that were troubling me. Of course, it didn't help any, but I _did_ try.

_He just needs help with his paper,_ I reminded myself for the six-hundredth time.

He didn't know that I happened to want him more than my next breath. He didn't know he'd seduced me with his looks and his sad eyes. He didn't know how he made me feel, or that I wanted to fix him. Or how bad I wanted to touch him or how much I feared that I would be unable to stop if I were allowed to.

_What on Earth am I going to do when he gets here?_ I wondered.

My own desires were tying me in a knot. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, hoping in vain that it would help.

_Master of Masks, remember?_ I chided myself. _Just hide it from him, like you hid it from yourself for months._

* * *

_Ed:_

I had to go to Mustang-sensei's room. Alone. How in the hell would _that_ end well? In a classroom full of students, there was practically a puddle of drool accumulating under my desk. Alone with him, my feelings would be all the more obvious.

_Just chill out, _I told myself. _Get in, get help, get out, get home. Nothing could be simpler._

I scoffed at that. _Yeah right._

This whole thing was messing me up so bad that I was contemplating not going at all, despite the fact that he'd gone through the trouble of having Ms. Armstrong remind me. Taking a deep, calming breath, I shook my head. I really needed help on this paper, and if I let him wait on a student who wasn't even going to show up, I was an asshole.

As though cued by my inner turmoil, the final bell rang, dismissing school for the day.

_Oh, yay. Now it's time to get English help from my sexy English teacher and time to try to _not_ drool all over him. like I'm up for _that_ task today._

I hurried through the crowd of students to get to my locker. Quickly, I gathered my books and slid them into my backpack. I stopped Al in the hall to tell him I might be a while.

* * *

**More than halfway there! **

**Unfortunately, gonna have to try something else. Elton John only makes things work for so long. Maybe some Eve 6?**

**I donno. Gonna have a look at that next chapter. Or maybe pass out. Depends ^^**

**PS: This is the last edit in my snow-storm streak. I started on chapter 6, but it's not quite ready for consumption ^^**


	6. Pain Is Part of Learning Who You Are

**Yay for sleep, mix discs, and coffee! I am now ****_awake_**** and ready to face the rest of the editing! **

* * *

_Roy:_

I wasn't sure how effective my cover was when I was having difficulty maintaining it. Sitting behind my desk, I was _supposed_ to be actually grading papers but my jittery nerves had made that impossible. So now, I was just _pretending_ to grade papers and praying that no one that could see deeper than the surface would feel the need to peek into my classroom.

My masks were failing me right now, but I was alone. I could force them up the minute I had company. My stomach churned with a strange mix of worry, shame, and lust, but I was doing my best to ignore it.

When the knock sounded at the doorway, it startled me. Obviously, I had been expecting him, but apparently I had managed to get lost enough in my thoughts that it was a sharp intrusion. I forced myself to actually grade a paper as I replied, "Come on in."

_Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,_ I echoed in my brain, mocking myself.

The door creaked open slowly and I let my attention move toward the door. Shyly, he stuck his head into my classroom, as though to ask, '_Are you too busy right now?'_ I couldn't keep the smile off of my lips as I beckoned him into the room. He obeyed quietly, his backpack over one strong shoulder and his coat slung over the other arm. I tried hard not to completely lose it when he closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Ed," I greeted. "What part of the paper was giving you trouble?"

"…There are a few things," he told me as he slung his coat over a chair, set his backpack on the desk, and opened it. "I wrote them down in my notebook, 'cause I was pretty sure I wouldn't remember them again until I was staring at the paper and panicking," he added wryly as he dug through his bag. I assumed the notebook was the objective, since he hadn't had one out when he came into the room. When he moved his long blond braid to his other shoulder and began to flip through a notebook, what else could he have been looking for than the notes he'd mentioned. He approached my desk with a confident stride, but his less-than-confident demeanor seemed to mock the confidence in his step.

Abruptly, he began to blush like a middle-school girl caught with a romance novel at reading time. "And _this _is the wrong notebook," he mumbled, hurrying to flip it closed.

Of course, everyone knows that when someone closes something that makes them blush that way, it always seems to take forever for the book to close. Not for the person observing. I had to strain forward to sate my curiosity. Of course, what I glimpsed on the lineless page of what had to be a sketchbook only gave me more questions for my troubles.

The sketch was sensual and provocative, a half-naked man wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans and a lusty gaze. Of course, the real kicker was that I recognized the man in the sketch.

It was _me_.

_What in the hell does _this_ mean?_

* * *

_Ed:_

I knew the moment he saw the sketch. His expression went blank as his masks shifted. Unfortunately for me, his blank mask always made me feel uncomfortable. Even _more_ unfortunately for me, the heavy silence made me want to fill it.

"I… I hope that you don't mind me drawing you… Your features are very striking and they make me want to draw them." I gave him a weak smile. "I'm infamously weak against the will of my muses."

He remained silent. I imagined he was still trying to find the right words to address an incredibly surreal situation –I knew I was still struggling to!

I decided to press a little more. "If it bothers you, I can try to stop…"

"You say that like you have no choice, like you've been drawing me forever," he commented finally.

"Oh, well, '_choice'_ and '_inspiration'_ are words I try not to use together in the same sentence, sensei. And it's not been _forever_, per say… just around three months or so. Since the beginning of the school year." I could have told him about the dreams, about my feelings, but I dismissed the notion out of hand. Even if there was a chance he _did_ return my feelings (see: "ice cube's chance in hell"), I was still _way_ too messed around by my past to view a 'normal' relationship with anything but contempt, which my failed relationship with Ross only reiterated.

He nodded slowly, processing what I had said but thankfully unaware of the thoughts in my head. I think it had more to do with the fact he was still looking at the sketchbook than any clever way I might have masked it. "May I see them?" he asked me.

I swallowed hard. My precious sketchbook was more like a diary than anything else I kept. Handing it to him was easy: the hard part soon followed. I wondered if I should have pulled some of them out and not let him see them. Still, I wanted to hand him an umbrella explanation for the collection of sketched. "I tried several things: changing expressions, clothes, poses… It helps me understand people better. More often than not, the way someone holds themselves or their body language or the expression you see for only an instant can tell you more about how someone truly feels than the words they have to say." I felt like I had said too much, so I just shut up and let him process it as he would.

The attentive way his obsidian eyes lingered on each drawing made me feel a little uncomfortable. He went clear through the book slowly, looking at the images that weren't of him as well. It wasn't as though I could complain: I had basically handed the man the inner workings of my mind. To complain that it was too intimate would be a dead giveaway.

"Hm. Slacks and a dress shirt, a suit, casual clothes, a tux, and a variety of shirtless poses," he mused, completely overlooking the drawings that hadn't been of him. "One could come to believe that you had a crush on me, Edward." Amusement danced in his eyes and I wanted to die.

_Oh, _fuck_ me!_

_If you ask him, he might,_ retorted the smart-ass voice in my head.

* * *

_Roy:_

Teasing was in my nature. It might have been cruel to tease him this way, but I really couldn't help myself. Teasing _him_ was almost imperative, and because I wanted him it was more severe than the way I might tease anyone else.

In reality, his fixation on me as a model for his art probably had no bearing one way or the other. It was probably just his brain recognizing something he found beautiful –especially since there were images of his brother, Winry, some autumn leaves, a snow-covered landscape, and one of the young female teachers mixed in among the others. Yet I said the words because I wanted to see his visceral reaction to the insinuation. In reality, I really did want him to want me, but I knew that I could tell a lot just by observing his reactions.

His blush was almost as charming as the stutter that followed. "C-clothing, expressions and poses are nothing but context!" he defended. "Whether or not what you implied is true is not the issue here."

Unfortunately, such a charming reaction was drenched in ambiguity. He hadn't denied it –and there was a lot more information to glean from a denial than a non-answer. If I _really_ wanted an answer, I would have to take a risk to find it, and I wasn't sure how much rope I could use before I actually managed to hang myself with it.

He carefully pulled the sketchbook from my hands and retreated to the desk where he'd left his bag. I studied his profile as he looked through it once and swore under his breath before repeating his search from the other end of the stack. The next notebook he pulled out was presumably the correct one, the one that he'd written his questions in. He flipped through it, finding the exact page this time before even approaching my desk again.

He looked over his own list of questions before looking at me. "Basically, it seems that I don't remember the difference between APA and MLA formats," he told me with a wry, charming honesty.

I had to wonder: did he always make himself the butt of the joke? Where did that attitude come from?

* * *

_Ed:_

He hadn't pressed me for something closer to a real answer. I was pretty sure he had been teasing me, but I didn't react well when teasing was too close to reality for me. I was glad I hadn't snapped at him, at least. Besides, he also hadn't forbid me to draw him, which would have been a lot harder for me than it sounded.

Carefully and precisely, he explained the differences between MLA and APA to me all over again. At one point, he even went so far as to take over my notebook and draw a table to help me remember the parallels between the two. Of course, all I could focus on at that moment was his elegant yet neat handwriting and the way his hand moved at he wrote.

I had just slid my notebook back into my backpack and zipped it, thinking about walking home alone, when I heard him say my name.

"Ed?"

"Yeah?" I returned.

"How old are you?" he asked, eyeing me quizzically.

My first reaction was shock, because he'd had me in his class for three months but hadn't asked it earlier. My second reaction was anger, since I assumed that –like always– the question was based on my height. Somehow, I managed to shove away the anger as it began to haze my vision in red. "I'm 18. What does it matter?"

His jaw dropped in undisguised astonishment. "Are you serious? You're so _bright_ and you're an outstanding student. Why, by all things holy, _why_ are you a year behind?"

* * *

_Roy:_

Golden eyes met my gaze, then suddenly seemed to became _very_ interested in the pattern of the floor-tiles. Words didn't seem even cross his mind, because slowly, with unintentional sensuality, he pulled off his black gloves one by one and let them drop to the floor before shrugging out of his red hooded jacket. Beneath that, he wore a black tank-top that clung and stretched across the well-tone muscles of his abdomen. It was about then that I noticed his shoulder, where tanned skin joined with the silver gleam of metal. The contrast of skin and cloth and metal was incredibly striking. Next, he methodically removed his black boots and pushed up the legs of his black leather pants until they were over his knees. The contrast of his toned, tanned calf and his full-metal calf was astounding and astonishing.

He had strange, almost futuristic-looking full-metal prosthetics that replaced his right arm and his left leg.

"What happened to you?" I couldn't help but ask.

He glanced up, those haunting golden eyes finding mine once more. "When I was fourteen, my family was driving home from a weekend trip to the beach. My father was driving and my mother was beside him in the passenger seat, navigating when he needed her to. My brother Alphonse and I were in the backseat, Al behind Mom and me behind Dad. It was about three in the morning –it had been a school vacation, and we were racing to get back home on Sunday so Al and I would be ready to return to school on Monday– and Mom had fallen asleep, as had Al. Dad started to fall asleep, drifting into on-coming traffic before I could wake him.

"There was a car pulling out into the intersection and turning, coming straight at us. Dad was panicking, but there was nothing that he could do nothing. All I could do was unbuckle my seatbelt and use my body to protect Alphonse, curing myself around him as best I could." He took a moment to catch his breath, grimacing. "The collision crushed the car, killing Mom on impact and completely severing my arm and leg. Al was unhurt –at least I saved him that. Dad walked away from the accident without a scratch, but that was probably worse than anything. He couldn't deal with losing Mom: he completely fell apart. He heard her voice in his ear, saw her everywhere. Losing the love of his life drove him insane."

His whole body trembled as he recalled it. "It was either commit him or let him kill himself. We had to supervise him constantly, because we couldn't put him in an institution until I turned 18. Well, I'm sure there was some way we could have managed it, but they would have taken Al from me. We're family and the only thing that either of us really had left was each other. I wasn't about to let anyone take him from me."

My mind when completely blank and my body responded on instinct alone. I didn't even register standing or walking to him, but I pulled him into my arms, wishing so desperately to leech away what had to be four years full of pain. I was aware that it was impossible, really I was, but that didn't stop me from wishing that I could.

* * *

_Ed:_

The words stopped coming when his arms wrapped around me. I wasn't sure why. Probably because my story seemed to hurt him as much as recounting it hurt me. The car crash had decimated my life and who I had believed myself to be. My notion of self and life were coming back together slowly, healing much like my arm and leg after what had felt like thousands of surgeries, a year of painful physical therapy, and the aches of body-parts that were now long gone. Someone had once said that pain was part of learning who you are, but sometimes it felt like pain defined my being.

But I had overcome it, _always_. Because I had to. Because Al needed me. Because Dad needed me. Never because I wanted to or because _I_ needed it: always for someone else.

Yet it was like all of the strength leeched out of me when his arms wrapped around me. His need to comfort me, even years after all of the pain, broke the damn inside me and released all of the tears that I had the ability to release. My arms found their way around him as well as the tears began to overflow all the barriers I built for them.

I cried for Alphonse and for myself, that we'd been orphaned by that accident even though our father's body had still been there. I wept for the pain of losing my limbs, for the endless surgeries, for the hours and hours of pain that came with one single session of physical therapy. Yet mostly, I found myself crying for the way that those strong arms felt around me, the heat of a body pressed against mine with no intention but to try to offer me comfort.

It had been far too long since someone other than my brother, Winry, or Winry's cranky grandmother had just _held_ me, with no ulterior motives or desires.

But this man… Amazingly enough, though all I really knew about him was that he taught high school English and loved it, that he was an impeccable dresser, that he was incredibly attractive, and that he tended to mask whatever he was feeling, he comforted me by simply _being there_. He went out of his way to sooth me, his hand sliding up and down my back, his warm voice murmuring soft comforts into my ear. In his arms, I felt something that I hadn't felt for a long time: I felt like I was safe and protected. Somehow, I felt more loved and cared for than I had ever felt in the last four years from one simple hug.

_You are _so_ in way over your head, kiddo, and you know it._

_Oh, shut the hell up,_ I returned. It may have been the truth, but I could pretend to be an ostrich with the best of them.

* * *

_Roy:_

I knew this wasn't the time to dwell on the way he felt in my arms, but I honestly couldn't help myself. Holding him felt like coming him, like after years of wondering I had somehow found my way back.

His tears soaked through my shirt as he sobbed silently. I didn't like that he was so quiet when he cried: it made me feel like he'd had a reason to hide his tears from someone close to him. After all that I knew he'd gone through, I didn't want to even contemplate what would have led to that particular habit.

His trust in me seemed astounding. I honestly would never have sobbed into the arms of one of my high school teachers: I would never have trusted them enough. Maybe he felt it, too: that feeling of wholeness that came when he was in my arms. It was the only reason I could think of for him to do this.

When his tears slowed and the sobs subsided some, he didn't withdraw from me. It surprised me, but I was okay with it. Even the strongest of people needed help from time to time, and sometimes, a hug was the best help one could receive. And holy _Shiva,_ this boy was strong: he'd lost so much, yet he pulled through for the people who needed him.

"Are you alright?" I inquired softly. Then I instantly regretted asking that question. _Stupidest fucking thing you could have said, Roy,_ I chided myself harshly.

Unaware of my instantaneous regret of the words that had escaped me, he nodded against my chest. "It feels good," he mumbled.

"What does?" I asked gently.

_Well, curiosity may have killed the cat, but I'm not a feline._

"To be _held_, just like this, by someone who's not just after sex," he replied wryly. "It's been a damn long time."

There was something there, beneath what he said. Something dark. Something that worried me desperately. Something that might have been the reason he was so drawn to the innocence in a child.

_Okay, this time curiosity _might_ kill me. Maybe I am a cat, after all._

"What do you mean, Ed?" I prodded softly. My instincts practically _screamed _at me. I was damn sure _not_ going to like the answer to this question.

He laughed hollowly and refused to meet my gaze.

Suddenly, I saw starkly that the reason this young man was as jaded as I was mirrored mine: he had been taught that trust was something to be broken over and over again by someone that he thought he could trust.

But even I couldn't have imagined his story.

"Alphonse is all that I have. I had to keep him with me. I couldn't let anyone take him from me. I looked for jobs first: really, I did. But a fifteen year old doesn't really have many options when he had no money to start with. So I did what a lot of people do when desperate times call for desperate measures: I went downtown and made the acquaintance of a woman named Amanda. The first thing she wanted was to see me naked. The way she nodded at me, as though noting every attribute, made me absolutely sick, but I had known what I was getting into."

He gave me a crooked smile that horrified me in its emptiness. "I know firsthand that a lot of men will pay a lot of money to play with a broken toy. Some of them liked me because I was young, but most of them liked me because I was desperate enough that I let Manda disconnect the ports of my prosthetics." Wide, glassy eyes looked at me. "These prosthetics are attached to my nerve endings. To say that the pain is hellacious is the worst understatement that I have ever heard. It's pretty much the same as loosing the limbs all over again. And they did it to me over and over and over again."

He gave me another vacant smile. "Desperation is an ugly thing, after all. I was absolutely disgusted by the whole situation, yet quite unable to escape it. I had to take care of Al, after all."

I dragged him back against my chest and refused to let him go. "Damn it all, wasn't there _someone_ you could have asked for help instead of taking all of that onto your shoulders?" I demanded gruffly. I hadn't even known him, yet I would have moved heaven and earth to help him, even taken him into my own home. No one should ever have their innocence torn away because of something as stupid as money!

"Granny Pinaco, Winry's grandmother –you might have met her around September? She's my physical therapist. She and Winry make the kind of prosthesis I use and they do all the adjustments when I grow. Anyway, she noticed the tool marks on them, and she knew I wasn't stupid enough to do it myself. She figured it all out and she got me out of that life." This time, his weak smile had more life to it. "Apparently, I really scared her. She doesn't like to take her eyes off of me now. I know she's scared that I'll go back to that kind of life, but I… Just knowing that I have someone so close to me that would give _anything_ to keep me safe keeps me from getting that desperate ever."

His tears renewed themselves. All I could do was hold onto him and stroke his hair while I murmured unintelligible words of comfort in his ear. I was so glad that he had Winry's grandmother. The next time I saw the woman, I swore I would lift the small woman up and kiss her! In the meantime, all I could really do was let him cry until the tears dispersed once more.

I knew too much about him to ever let him be alone again. The kid was stuck with me, no matter what.

He nuzzled into me and I felt his lips brush against my chest.

_What in the _hell_…?_

* * *

**I know that this part got a great deal darker, but it is improved in the fact that you learn ****_how_**** Ed got out of that mess…**

**I hope that makes up for where things got so dark…**

**Also, some of you may have noticed a name change for the woman who pulled Ed into the whole world of ick. If you can figure out why it changed, kudos :P**

**Next chapter should be… interesting, heh ^^**


	7. An Ice Cube's Chance In Hell

**Well, now. The after math of an accidental kiss!**

* * *

_Ed:_

Honestly, I hadn't even _meant_ to do it. It was like some sort of instinct: something that one doesn't think about but just _does_. Unfortunately, the embrace quickly went from comforting to awkward when he froze.

It was obvious that I had shocked him, and obvious that he understood what it meant that he had received that action from _me_, a male. "E-Edward?" he asked, his voice tinged with something I wasn't quite sure how to identify.

_Well, now you've gone and done it. What man wants for the touch of a whore?_ sneered a voice in my head.

_But… but he understands. He knows why things had to be that way, _contradicted a second voice.

Great. I was going insane. I was so emotionally fucked up that I had more than one voice that whispered in my head. If they needed names, they would have to be Fear and Hope: two completely contradictory perspectives on life.

_Psh. He's your teacher. Like he would ever put his job in jeopardy to do something with a student,_ sneered yet another voice.

_If only things had been different…_ another voice interjected.

So what? That made the first one Reason and the second one Regret?

_Have a little faith. He wasn't expecting you to do that: maybe you startled him?_ reasoned another voice.

So this one was probably Faith.

Oh, god, I had a slew of badly named friends living in my brain!

_Could all of you just shut the hell up?_ I demanded.

Surprisingly, they all listened.

I withdrew from him, carefully taking a step back and averting my gaze. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you any of that," I mumbled, moving to grab my things and make a run for the door.

"Ed," Mr. Mustang started, pausing as though he was waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I ignored him and hurried for the door. I didn't expect him to move so quickly and block my only way out, though. Still, I avoided his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor with the empty eyes that my past 'clients' had so adored.

"Edward, look at me!" he commanded.

Still, I refused to do so. His hand cradled my jaw and gently turned my face until I met his gaze. Defiantly, I stared straight into his obsidian eyes, yet I found myself searching their depths for something _specific_, something I couldn't quite identify. As though I dared him, he stared straight back into my eyes as well. His expression remained completely unreadable and I realized just how compromising this position could be. His hand still held my jaw, keeping my lips just scant inches from his own. If I strained into him even just a little, they would touch.

Arousal and anticipation coiled in my stomach. Once more, my body's traitorous response reminded me that I wanted something that I could never even dream to have. I never stood more than an ice cube's chance in Hell the first place. Now that he had seen the darkness that lurked in my soul, now that he knew what I had once stooped to in my desperation, my chances lay somewhere _below_ the zero mark.

* * *

_Roy:_

As I watched, heat seared through eyes of molten gold. I wasn't sure if that startled me more or less than the answering heat that sang through my blood and shot straight to my groin.

It was strange. All of the moments that had passed between us had never stirred me to arousal with temptation so close at hand. I found that my strength in the face of my own personal attraction to the beautiful young man before me, I didn't have near as much strength as I had always thought I did.

_Fuck it,_ I thought, flinging caution to the wind and hoping that it didn't come back to bite me on the ass.

Pressing forward just enough to cross the gap between us, I pressed my lips to his.

I watched his golden eyes flare wide. His lips were frozen in place. Obviously, it had been my turn to stun _him_.

I was beginning to wonder if I had completely misread him when the backpack and coat he'd gathered up in his attempt to flee fell to the floor with an unceremonious _whoosh_. His arms slid around me tightly, pulling our bodies even closer together. Expertly, he shifted his head _just_ enough to facilitate the kiss.

Deepening our kiss allowed me my first taste of him. He tasted warm and rich, like good rum, and his taste only served to feed the liquid fire in my veins. Languidly, I took my time and learned every inch of his mouth with my tongue, taking time to tease him by swirling my tongue along the roof of his mouth.

Our kiss only ended when we found ourselves getting a _little_ too close to oxygen deprivation. Breathless and panting, all we could do in the few minutes it took us to catch our breaths was look at each other.

"Sweet _Shiva_," he breathed out softly, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Hah. Three months of trying to pretend I didn't feel anything, only to find out I'm not alone," I murmured, wanting to taste his lips all over again.

"I guess now's a good time to tell you that your earlier deduction about the drawings is fairly accurate? I've wanted you since the first day of school, when you smiled at me when I came into class late." He smiled good-naturedly, though a lovely blush rested on his cheekbones.

I couldn't help but smile back. His blatant honesty knocked me through a loop, because I was so used to living in a world where every person had a motive and they would use whatever it took to get whatever it was that they wanted so damn bad. It was funny that a young man with so much he preferred to hide seemed to have no use for the masks that had become an ingrained part of my life. He just preferred to omit the things he wished to forget, not dance around them.

I loved the way he radiated joy at the moment, happiness wiping away the heaviness that had lingered in his gaze for so long. I couldn't help but press a brief kiss to his smiling lips. I wondered how much his smile would grow if I confessed that I had fallen in love with him more than a month ago.

He hummed and the vibration seemed to reverberate through my own chest. "Three months," he declared. "Do you think that _you_ can push away this sudden abundance of desire, knowing that it's not just your own? Because I'm not sure that _I_ can."

His blunt question was very valid. After letting our respective infatuations build so strong, could either one of us just walk away from this? His honest declaration that he couldn't made heat dance in through me once more.

His smile turned sensual, as did his tone. "I thought not," he purred.

And that was when I realized that he could see right past my masks now.

And it didn't bother me, because it was _him_.

* * *

**I apologize if any of you are sensitive to the term "whore". It's used by the character to distance himself from the acts he committed. It's also used to indicate a certain amount of self-loathing that stems from it.**

**What I guess I'm trying to say is that it isn't just some whim for me: I find it necessary to add depth to the character.**

**Anyway! I know it's been a wild ride all over again~ I wonder how much editing the next chapter will receive?**

**Muwahaha. XD**


	8. Trust

**…My sister has been laughing at me.**

**Ever since I started editing this section, I've been swearing, "I'll go straight!"  
I don't mean quite my life of crime. I mean I'll go to my straight stories –at least for a while, haha.  
And every time I say it, she tells me, "No, you won't. You love it. You masochist."**

**I'm gonna prove her wrong, damn it! Probably by editing one of my straight fan-fictions next… at which point, I'll swear to go gay, I'm sure :P**

* * *

_Ed:_

I wasn't sure if his masks had dropped completely or I was getting better at looking past them. what I saw now was the flame of pure, undisguised desire. If I were looking at any other person, it would have made me nervous. Instead, my own desire danced through me like eager lightening.

We'd not allowed the distance between us to grow much, so pulling his lips back down to mine was a simple matter of lacing my fingers into the silk of his hair. With my other hand, I carefully unbuttoned his shirt by feel.

The depth of his hunger would have been scary to me, but mine was just as deep and I was just as hungry for him. Instead, I found our matching hungers thrilling and freeing. I couldn't help but smile against his lips as his hands skimmed down my torso to undo my leather pants.

Inadvertently, his hand brushed against my cock, making me moan into his hungry mouth and force his dress shirt down his arms. Our kisses resumed where they ended and he finished removing his shirt. I found his kiss much like a drug, narcotic and addictive. With the precise thrust of his tongue, he drew mine into the dance of give and take that was as old as time.

It was surprisingly easy for me, since it was familiar and yet not. I remembered how incredibly empty I used to feel as this dance led further and further into the all-consuming furnace of lust and want. Yet now, I felt the flames scorching at my own skins, blazing in my veins, eating away my sanity. The difference was that this act wasn't an empty joining of bodies anymore: it was about mutual want and mutual need, and the difference was _glorious_.

Slowly, I unbuttoned and unzipped his dress slacks, sliding my hand into them and under his boxers to stroke his length, skin on skin. He gasped, startled a bit perhaps by my forwardness, and I had to smile when that gasp became a pleasured rumble in his throat. His pleasure became my own pleasure, because it wasn't just about one of us. I brought my lips to the moon-pale skin I'd fantasized about marking. Nuzzling his neck, I drew in the scent of his skin as my hand slid over his length.

I sucked on the skin at his pulse-point and felt the vibrations from his roar through my lips, loving the way it made them tingle.

"Ed," he murmured, "let me."

He chose his words carefully, but I wasn't quite sure what he meant. Frequently, I had been purchased and used for other people's pleasures. I had been trained to be an expert at giving pleasure, cultivating it into an all-consuming fire, yet I wasn't quite sure of what he meant.

Nevertheless, I trusted him. I'd trusted him with my past, then with my feelings. The least I could do was trust him with my body. So without a word, I released him and withdrew my hand. He asked for the board, so let him move the first piece.

His hands went to rest upon my waist. Slowly, he worked the tight leather down my thighs, his fingertips dragging across my skin and conjuring a shiver. As soon as he had worked my pants low enough to free my cock, it jutted to attention. His smile was amused, tender, and seductive, all rolled into one gorgeous twist of his lips. When he blew air at the tip of my cock, I shivered again.

"How long has it been since someone worried about _your_ pleasure?" His voice had that low, sexy timber to it. It was seductive, mystical, powerful.

I actually had to think about it. In the past, it had been more about other people's pleasure, and that usually meant that no one worried about mine. I had the occasional client that had needed a simple training-ground for sex, but again, that wasn't about _my_ pleasure.

As for my as-of-today ex-boyfriend Russell, well, his favorite thing had been to watch me take my pleasure into my own hands. Now, I understood the seductive power of watching someone find pleasure their own way, but I was honestly in a better relationship with my hand than I had been with my boyfriend.

"Would you like that figure in months or years?" I asked, trying to make a joke of it.

"Then I think it's high time that someone did," he told me, his voice hypnotic as he lifted me by my hips and placed my bare butt upon his recently cleared desk.

Then he knelt before me, the elevation of his desk making him about mouth-level with my erection. Obsidian eyes twinkled at me for a moment, teasing me with my own over-active imagination as my mind fluttered through all of the possibilities, all the things he _might_ do, and the anticipation. Then he moved forward, drawing my cock into his mouth.

My head lolled back as a sound of pleasure ripped out of the back of my throat. His arms slid around to the base of my spine, where my braid dangled. His hand fumbled for a moment, then pulled the hair-tie out of my hair. My thick braid, once free, came unbraided easily and fell loosely down my back. His fingers laced into it gently, briefly, as though savoring the texture of my hair.

His attention returned to the matter at hand –or, more accurately, the one in his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tip of my cock, though his hands hand already moved onto other tasks –like first removing my boots, then the leather pants he had already eased clear down to my ankles.

When my state of undress satisfied him, I received the entirety of his undivided attention. His hands prowled up the inside of my thighs, parting them just a bit further before he took more of me into his mouth. His clever, clever hands discovered more of my skin, lingering on the more sensitive territories, while he drove me out of my mind with his mouth. The fingers of my left hand laced into his silken hair and I held on for dear life –or sanity, or something else that I couldn't quite name.

Somehow, he seemed to know exactly what I liked, what my body needed, what _I_ needed. Soon, all I could do was writhe against him as sound after sound tore out of my mouth like they had been torn out of my soul. Had it been so long since I'd really experienced my own pleasures that I was reduced to this state?

He made some sort of sound as he looked up at me from his current position. It _might_ have been a chuckle, but it was kind of hard to tell when his mouth was full. Honestly, I couldn't convince myself to care just what the noise was when the vibrations moved from his mouth to my over-sensitive body.

Something that no one ever tells you about sex is that it's not about dignity. It's not pretty, it's not clean, and it is the farthest thing I can think of from dignified. It can be amazingly pleasurable for an instant but you might just regret it for the rest of your life.

I knew a great deal about sex, mostly from personal experience, and I could tell you that _this_ was nothing like sex to me. Sex was dirty, undignified, and physically satisfying. What he was doing to me… Well, yeah, it might not have been particularly pretty or clean or seemly, but it wasn't just _physically_ satisfying. The way my heart throbbed in my chest had less to do with exertion or pleasure and more to do with the man who was driving me out of my ever-loving mind.

What separates sex from love is the emotions: that feeling that you just might die if they ever stopped, the absolute _euphoria_ of knowing that your feelings aren't just one-sided, the way that your own desire is answered and doubled by theirs.

I wasn't an expert on love, but even I could tell that _this_ was what they wrote songs and poems and romance novels about. And I was absolutely _lost_ in it, in this moment, and I was pretty sure I would never be able to regret these moments together, even if I lived a thousand years.

When he sent me hurtling over the edge of pleasure, it was all I could to keep myself from screaming 'I love you' like some lovesick fool. Then again, I _was_ some lovesick fool, so perhaps my restraint was a little more about preserving what little was left of my dignity.

* * *

_Roy:_

The path that ramped him up to his orgasm came to a sudden end.

Though his orgasm was a bit unexpected, I did my best to swallow each drop of his essence –mostly because I could, but also because it was efficient clean-up. I drew back, watching him bask in the afterglow. I wasn't sure if it was wanting him to have that moment of bliss or wanting to watch him have that moment of bliss. I'll call back with the correct answer later, thanks.

To think that he had gone so long since he's actually had someone _else_ look to his pleasure a transgression I was having a hard time getting over. He was absolutely gorgeous on his own, but watching him fall into ecstasy was all together more beautiful than anything I had seen before in my life. Knowing that I had been the one to push him there bathed me in pride and satisfaction.

I rose from my knees, silently cursing the slight creak of pain that made me feel incredibly old. Of course, as soon as I glimpsed him from this angle once more, all I wanted to go was touch him again. Thusly, I leaned into him and nuzzled his neck, breathing his scent deep into my lungs before I pressed a tender kiss to the skin on the side of his neck.

He allowed his head to loll to the side, as though to give me better access. I'm sure I chuckled before taking advantage of the opportunity he gave me. Opening my mouth, I nipped at the tender of his neck. After applying a bit of suction –just enough to titillate, not enough to leave a hicky– I nipped him once more and was rewarded for all of my efforts with his low, sensuous moan.

The satisfaction I felt only grew. I adored that I had brought him to the brink of pleasure and pushed him past it. I treasured each and every moan more than any amount of precious jewels on the planet. And I cherished each and every stunning expression of adulated pleasure that crossed his face.

I wanted to do these things to him over and over again, until he forgot how to do anything but simply receive the pleasure and adoration that was due him.

* * *

**I more than doubled the length of this chapter… I also managed to slip an interesting little dissertation into it. Pardon me for doing a little more than just waxing poetic :P**


	9. Infatuated END

**Here lies the final part of "Infatuation".**

**I do hope that this edit has made this story that much better for all of you! I know that ****_I_**** like it better this way…**

* * *

_Ed:_

His strong arms slid around me and he lifted me once more. Too much of my brain was still lost in the ecstasy of my body to even _think_ about wondering where we were going. Trusting him with all of me meant trusting he wouldn't do anything too terribly embarrassing or crazy.

Slowly, I regained some sort of cognizance. Even with a few part of my brain back to full functionality, however, it still took me a few seconds to realize why the view from here was so terribly familiar and why the surface was so cool to the touch. It was my desk, where I usually spent most of an hour each morning staring at this particular teacher and daydreaming.

His gaze met mine, his dark eyes warm and somehow soft –gentle, maybe. "Hey," he greeted me softly, a luxuriant smile spreading across decadent lips.

_Holy mother of Shiva._ This _incredible_ man was looking at me with something so much deeper than lust in his eyes, even knowing exactly what I had been and what I had gone through. "Hey," I returned, sliding my arms around his neck so that I could bring those lips back to mine.

A strangled sound rumbled out of the back of his throat a mere instant before I found myself crushed against him. His mouth moved hungrily –a little desperately, even– over mine. It was a long moment before I recalled that _my_ hunger had been sated –but he hadn't sated himself.

I couldn't let him go –not until my lungs began to burn for oxygen. I was reluctant even then, drawn to the tenderness and restraint of this man. As if summoned by my thoughts of his tenderness, he rained soft kissed on my face, starting slowly and working down.

Ironically, for all of my appreciation of his tenderness, it was still a bit alien to me –even stunning. Yet there was no way to tell him or any reason to end it: I was drowning in the flood of it. When his lips descended on mine in the most tender kiss I had ever received in my life, I couldn't help but reciprocate it. I want to project how I felt about him, how he made me feel, and how much I couldn't help but want him through this kiss.

I wasn't sure if he received all of that, but he ran his hands down my chest –pausing a moment to tweak my sensitized nipple through the shirt I still wore and make me moan. I felt the quirk of his lips against mine and knew that he was smiling again. My hands took action on their own, crawling to the top of his breastbone before raking my nails down his chest. His aroused rumble made me smile and sooth the marks I had left behind with my fingertips.

Being that I was shorter than he was _and_ I was in a position that provided me better leverage, I wrapped my arms around his neck and supported my weight there only for the short amount of time that it took me to wrap my legs about his waist. I felt his shiver when the cold metal of my prosthetic limbs met his bare skin. I found the contrast of cool, unyielding steel and warm, moon-pale skin striking and more than a bit arousing.

When his lips fell to the sensitive skin of my neck, I opened myself to him. I wanted more of him, more of the sensations he stirred in me, more of the desire he kindled from a tiny flame to a roaring blaze.

* * *

_A Biased Observer:_

I watched them from the doorway, where I had cracked the door open while they hadn't been paying any attention.

I could see them together, moaning and touching each other.

I'd seen them, watching each other with heat in their eyes when the other wasn't looking. Honestly, I had hoped that their mutual infatuation would pass without such an incident. But clearly, from the scene before me, all of my hopes had been completely in vain.

The only option I had left was to report the actions to the school board anonymously and pray that my beautiful lover would come back to me. Sure, neither one of them would be able to show their faces at this school again even if the charges didn't stick, but wasn't the cause of my love worth more than that?

**_To Be Continued…_**

* * *

**I tried to be a little more ambiguous with the "observer"… though I'm pretty sure it's still rather simple to figure out who it is… I changed to perspective, because I don't think it's good to go through the entire story in first person and then just randomly use third person…**

**So! The revision is now complete!**

**By the way, the final word count for the revised version of "Infatuation" is 19,082 words.**

**Let me know if I have any typos I missed… I'll admit that I rushed to post these when I finished them, so I didn't really take much time to reread them…**

**I won't promise that I'll start on posting "Complication" soon. (I ****_did_**** swear I'd go straight for a while, and I want to prove my sister wrong…) What I have done for "Complication" now needs some revision to fit the changes I made to "Infatuation". I ****_can_**** promise I won't be an absent author, at least! I've got several more stories to edit and …too many works in progress to stay away for long!**

**Ever yours,  
~Sins~**


	10. Author Note

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone.

I apologize for taking so long to get to the next section of this story.

The biggest problem for me is that I have changed so much as a writer since starting Infatuation. Now, I must edit Infatuation so it will belong with my lovely start to Confrontation (part 2).

So for now, this little note is to inform you of changes to be made. Also, it's to direct you attention to the next chapter that I have posted. I'm posting a preview of Confrontation, just to prove I've not been sitting on my hands all this time.

Much love to all of you who enjoyed this story! I hope that you will enjoy the edits and the next part as well!

~Sins~


	11. Confrontation TEASER

**Well, my lovelies, this is your teasing peek!**

**I can't promise that I'll have all of this up very soon, but I did want to let you know that yes, it is still coming!**

**Without further ado, please enjoy your preview of part 2, "Confrontation".**

* * *

_Ed:_

My brother probably thought something was wrong in my head.

Then again, Al was as intelligent as I was, so he probably knew _exactly_ what was going on.

I had spent all of my Saturday with Roy, warm and secure in his arms and in his bed, loving him and being loved in return. It amazed me to know that I could still feel the euphoria of love from an act I'd long-ago dismissed as animalistic. Then again, I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with how he treated me. Russ had always half-way treated me like the whore he'd never known I'd ever been, and I supposed that it was my fault for choosing a boyfriend too much like the clients I had taken in the past. But Roy... so far, he treated me like a treasure and I wasn't quite used to that. He'd spent all day with me Saturday and we had taken turn showing each other how much it all meant to us.

On Sunday, my detour from reality had come to an end when I went back home to spend the day with Al. There was a large pile of homework that had demanded my attention after being abandoned for my new lover on Saturday, so I'd spent a few hours out in the yard and laying beneath the big shade tree with my brother as I completed assignment after assignment. Then I'd cuddled on the couch with my brother and read a book while he watched a movie, sneaking peeks at the film periodically as Al had chattered happily.

I was certain that my brother had noticed that I had been moodier than usual, and he _had_ to notice certain changes in my posture. I'd spend a few hours on Cloud Nine before sliding into a state of depression for about an hour, and I had spent the entire weekend flickering between the two. I knew that many times, Al had watched me with curiosity dancing in his golden eyes.

On Monday morning, I endured the usual strip-search and cavity check once more and pondered just what sort of doctor's note it would require to bring this awkward routine of examinations to an end. The very fact that I'd even _had_ that thought startled me. For months, I'd endured them wordlessly, just counting them as an added punishment for my sins –of which, believe me, there were many. But there had been something about the way that Roy had touched me... it made me almost physically ill to have another's hands on the places that he had caressed so lovingly.

I slipped into the empty hallway quietly. After a brief stop at my locker to put away most of my books, I walked to class, a slight limp hindering my progress a bit. A smile plucked at the corners of my mouth as I recalled the very _active_ role my very sexy sensei had played in my limp. Little sheerings of pain were almost pleasurable as I recalled why they were there and whose tender touch had made it happen. My smile fell a bit as I remembered the strain this would place on our relationship as teacher and student as well as our relationship as lovers. Teachers and students were only supposed to have that first kind of relationship, not the second. If we were found out, Roy could lose his job. So we couldn't let anyone even _guess_ that our relationship had changed.

We would both have to pretend nothing had changed. I would have to go back to my pitiful adoring puppy impersonation that I had learned to half-suppress during the months I'd been his student. And, well, pray we could find someway to take advantage of his prep period, but that was neither here nor there.

I paused in front of the door to his classroom and sighed. Steeling myself once more, I knocked and waited for our established routine to begin. When he answered the door, I handed him the pass, murmuring an apology all the while. His eyes turned tender for a moment before his emotionless mask slid back in place before anyone else could notice. I could have imagined the whole thing: no trace of it remained on his face. His fingers casually grazed my shoulder blade as he directed me to take my seat. At the touch, warmth and awareness tingled through me and the world seemed a little brighter for a moment as I took my seat.

The lecture began in full-force as my mind drifted off into a fantasy land created by our stolen moments and touches. I was curious about our situation and his take on things. All the while, I watched him, musing about how he looked in front of the class, how he commanded attention from all of his students with an easy confidence, how he walked with and uncommon beauty and grace, how he talked on the topics he was passionate about with his hands moving animatedly and betraying his excitement while his expression remained stoic and calm.

A smile pulled at my lips when I realized he knew that I was watching him, that he could feel my eyes on him, and that it seemed to fluster him a bit. Forcing him to pause briefly to recollect his thoughts. Being as I _was_ hormonal, a series of dirty thoughts passed through my mind, amusing me and giving me all sorts of naughty little ideas to use to tease my sensei –most of which would land me in deep, boiling water if I even really _thought_ about acting on them in a classroom full of other students.

He paced past my desk and a note landed on my desk among the papers and books. Covertly, I slipped the note into my lap. As I unfolded it, the noise seemed so loud to my ears that it should have echoed in the room. I was pretty sure it was just that student sense that kept me from getting caught with embarrassing notes.

But I was almost scared of what the note, itself, could contain.

Was he having second thoughts?

Did he reconsider getting into a relationship with a student?

Did he think everything was a mistake?

It was silly how much fear that one little piece of paper could instill in me.

I took a deep breath and opened the note.

* * *

**Yes, yes. I am an evil bitch. But, I gotta hook you all over again! Lol**

**I am currenyly working very hard on this story, and when I post the first chapter, I promise it will be longer than this blurb. **

**So. Drop a line in the review box and tell me just how evil I am. Keep up with my editing and watch the story develop all over again.**

**Much affection,**

**~Sins~**


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